The Saint (31 page)

Io stood and looked down at Adora, compassion in her eyes.

“Feel free to come to me at any time if you have questions—go to anyone. We are all anxious to help you.” She added almost carelessly, “You can see the baby if you want. She's out with Chloe in the garden. You'll recognize Chloe because she looks like a ghost—a ghost with scars even deeper than your own.”

Adora nodded, but Io's words only increased her nervousness. She wasn't sure she wanted to meet the ghostly Chloe; and with everything she'd just learned, she knew she wasn't ready to see the baby she and Kris had rescued.

Jack, Thomas and Kris met for a second council of war—or, given Kris's nature, a council of strategic peace.

“There are scattered hives throughout Europe and Asia. There's only one in Africa, and one in Australia that we know of. That hive peacefully shares territory with the Aboriginals—so far. In fact, none of those hives are as . . .” Kris sought a word.

“Confrontational?” Jack suggested.

“Yes—nor are they as entrepreneurial as the ones here in America. And it is mainly in the U.S. that lutins have embraced technology for violent purposes. This is where we need to begin. The United States first, and then Central and South America and Europe. It's basic triage. This is where the most danger lies, so we put our resources here.”

“And giving a small vial of Cadalach's water to everyone will do . . . what?” Thomas asked. “Assuming we can arrange it logistically.”

“If there is any magic in them, they will be drawn to the water's call. It will guide them to their spiritual home in their dreams, and awaken their dormant natures. Cyra can help with this. I've never met a stronger kloka. There may be a role for Farrar as well. It could be handy to enlist some people on the Otherside.”

“And we want that—an unsupervised confederacy of uneducated, magically awakened half-breed humans, feys and even goblins?” Thomas sounded skeptical.

Kris made himself sound certain. “Yes, my doubting Thomas. I know it isn't the traditional way of dealing with this problem, but it's the only course I can see that will save us from annihilation. We have to shift the balance of power—win the masses' minds to our side before they are addicted by goblin fruit or succumb to lutin propaganda.” Kris laid a hand on Thomas's arm. “My friend, this won't happen overnight. The awakening will take place over the space of months, even years. Some will come right away. Others will be slower to believe their dreams. But word will spread, and a sense of community will grow among those touched by magic. The Internet will help make this possible. And it isn't as though they'll overrun Cadalach—not at all. They have their human homes and jobs and families out there.”

“But—”

“It is hard to remember, but there was a day when magic was everywhere in the world. It wasn't always confined to a few faerie strongholds. Nor were the races segregated as we are today. It's time we set our magic—and all people—free. Then we can begin
to heal the earth and ourselves, and undo the thousands of years of damage we have wrought.”

“They'll try and stop us,” Thomas said. He sounded resigned, but made one last effort. “Kris, I know these hive masters, and many of the fanatical human groups. They won't want a confederacy of magical beings that might align themselves with us. And they will kill or die to prevent this from happening.”

“I know.” Kris's voice was wise but sad. “And we can't stop them from throwing their lives away if that's truly what they wish to do. But the tyrants and fanatics will fall one by one. Reason will prevail. All we have to do is keep the peace long enough for the tide to change in our favor.”

“You have foreseen this?” Thomas asked.

“Yes.” And he had. In a vision. Long, long ago.

“Okay, so let's talk about how we make this happen,” Jack said.

In spite of what Adora had said about needing a walk, she didn't leave the room right away. Instead, she stood and stared at the life-sized portrait of Kris, as though it would eventually feel her attention and deign to speak to her. She was thinking hard about everything Io claimed, and liking none of it because it felt like the truth.

When pressed, Adora would admit to having had an almost Pavlovian aversion to men in the past. This hadn't been bad, because when she was younger it had kept her focused on her education and career when other girls were being led astray by hormones.

Didn't you give up on guys and the idea of marriage rather young, though?

She had. Adora had decided on her twelfth birthday,
when she stood alone at the school dance, shunned by her classmates for being different. She had decided then that she would probably never marry. It wasn't that she didn't find boys attractive. But then—and now—it was apparent that most men were not going to share her odd obsessions, or even tolerate her having them. In fact, her first lover had told her flatly that her priority should be supporting her man—whenever he wanted—by: A) having sex whenever he felt like it (whether she was in the mood or not), B) feeding him whenever he wanted (again, whether it was convenient or not), and C) by babying his ego—constantly. The last item annoyed her most of all. Assuming she had any maternal instinct—and there was absolutely no proof that she possessed one—it wouldn't be wasted on a male who refused to grow up.

Fortunately, immaturity wasn't Kris's problem.

No, he's just insane and inhuman
, Joy answered.
A crusader. You know I'm right. All he's missing is the tights, mask and cape.

Adora shook her head.

He wasn't insane—not really. And if he was, was that so bad? After all, wasn't he touched by something . . . ? Something like Divine Madness?

You are
so
gone. Your only hope is that he doesn't know you're gaga for him and he lets you get away. Io could be wrong, you know. Maybe the cup can still pass you by. You don't have to be like your mother and lose yourself to this man and his crazy schemes.

Her mother? Anger raced through Adora's body.
You bitch! You cruel, heartless bitch. I am nothing like her—and Kris is not like my father. Take it back!
she hissed at her inner voice.

If you aren't, then you have nothing to worry about— have you?
Joy asked coldly.

But Adora was worried, because Joy had it right. Under all the other logical reasons she'd enumerated for not marrying, Adora's chief reason for avoiding “good” men and a permanent relationship was the fear that she would become like her mother: blind, selfish, dependent—unable even to live without her other half nearby.

So, you're going to let the dead rule your life?
Joy asked.

I don't know,
Adora replied.

She sighed and pulled her dirty coat tighter, then thought again about going out to get some air. Love might warm the cockles of her heart, but it did nothing to keep chills out of her mind. What on earth was she going to do?

Joy, I want to get away—to have some fun. I want to not think for a while.

So, go already. I want to have some fun, too. Geez— don't blame me that you think too much. I told you to leave this be.

Adora was worried about getting lost without a guide, but the mound seemed anxious to help steer her to the gardens. There she had a charming few minutes wandering about, smelling dizzying flowers and listening to the peaceful whispers of the blue water that seemed to flow beside her wherever she walked, offering her strength and to quench her thirst.

The first person Adora saw in her wanderings was a slight female who seemed too frail to be carrying around a baby as well as dragging a reluctant child behind her. This had to be Chloe, Io's “almost ghost.” Not certain why, since Chloe was so small and harmless, Adora backed away, stopping only when she reached Kris's Jaguar, which had somehow appeared at the far side of the garden.

“Hello,” said a voice from below her. Jack? “I didn't think I'd see you again so soon. We've been a bit worried about you and Kris. He didn't stay with you very long.”

In fact, he could hardly wait to get away from me, she thought.

“Why would you worry about me? I'm completely harmless,” Adora said lightly as she continued to watch the frail Chloe from behind the car.

Jack snorted. “No beautiful woman is ever completely harmless—especially if she's a siren fey. I know. I married one.”

Adora finally looked down and saw Jack's upside-down face emerge from under the car. He had a streak of grease on his right cheek, which should have marred his beauty, but it instead only underscored the perfection of his features.

“Thank you for the backward compliment. I think. Is that Chloe?” she asked softly, jerking her head.

Jack twisted, peering around the tires. “Yep,” he said, then disappeared again.

“What's wrong with her?” Adora asked. She hoped he was still in the mood to talk. “She seems . . . distracted. Unhappy. Is it . . . the baby we brought? Is it sick?”

“No. She's worried about Clarissa. The child with her.” Jack's grease-smeared hand appeared. “Could you pass me the blue-handled socket wrench? It's in the toolbox to your left.”

Adora looked at the preschooler happily throwing rocks down the tunnel out of Cadalach and didn't know what to say. The child resembled a capybara, which would worry most mothers, but she sensed this wasn't the main problem. After all, these people had a friend who was a dragon and an
uncle who was a ghost. A fuzzy-faced child shouldn't seem that weird. Not here.

“Why? What's wrong with Clarissa?” she asked at last, finally handing Jack the wrench. She folded her knees, sitting down on velvety moss. “Is she sick?”

“No, she's not sick either. Chloe's worried because Clarissa is half troll and half human. That makes her smart as well as strong-willed. And the terrible twos are apt to last until puberty—when her moods will get worse. Frankly, the terror can last even beyond that. Trust me, it's worse than the usual acne-driven teen angst human parents deal with.”

Adora digested this, thinking about the child they had rescued and wondering uneasily if it would have similar problems. Four arms had to be worse than pimples.

“Mugshottz is part troll and he turned out fine,” she mentioned hopefully. “He's actually rather wonderful.”

“He is wonderful. But Mugshottz is an exception. I hate to think of his fate if Kris hadn't adopted him. Being part gargoyle makes him an abomination even in the goblin world.” Jack's hand appeared long enough to pick up another socket wrench, then disappeared back under the car. “The thing with most trolls is that they don't really have what you could call a conscience. If they were human, we'd call them sociopaths. But trolls are bred that way. They are born violent and raised by goblins as attack dogs—which is okay as long as they're kept on a leash. But their handlers have to make sure they stay leashed, and be eternally vigilant about demonstrating who the boss is.”

Jack picked up the other wrench and continued, “But Chloe doesn't want to raise her daughter like a
vicious animal that needs to be whipped and caged. She wants Clarissa to be
normal.
It's a fine line to walk. You have to be firm and school them while they're young, because once they're adults you can't teach them to grow morals and discipline. You can't force them to feel empathy.”

“You can't do that with people either,” Adora said, and then flinched at her gaffe. Her views had broadened in the last few hours, her definition of “people” expanded to fit more of Kris's worldview. “Humans, I mean. I still think of
‘people'
as human,” she said by way of explanation and apology.

“I understand. It takes a while to adapt to a new vocabulary. Speaking of adapting, how are you dealing with the whole Goddess thing? It can be a bit frightening when you feel the full weight of . . . Her. And Kris is . . . well, Kris. I know we death feys can be a bit overpowering.”

Eat my heart. Drink my soul. Love me to death
.

Adora shivered. It was that other voice whispering in her brain again—the one that wasn't Joy.

No, it isn't me, and it's getting really crowded in here
.
I'm not sure how long I can keep it from taking up permanent residence
.

Please try. Two's company and all that
.

“I don't know how things are. It's . . .” Adora paused to really consider her answer. It was damned confusing, that was for sure. And her desire for Kris was still clouding her reason. Her attraction seemed thick in the air, a sort of perfume cloud that enveloped her and that she feared must be apparent to everyone else. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure what Jack meant and was reluctant to ask. She chose to think he was talking about religion rather than their overwhelming sexual attraction.

Not that the religious question was an easy one to answer, either. She had very mixed feelings about religion. Her only experience was with whom Kris would call Worshippers, and she had never been at home in their churches. So many of those buildings felt like mausoleums, large coffins that contained faiths that no one wanted to admit were deceased. She thought again about what Kris said—people putting God in a box.

They sometimes did that to their souls as well, chaining them in one place forever. She had never liked the theory that said after death her soul would go to Heaven, where it would be weighed, examined for hard mileage and then kept unused in some celestial storeroom for eternity—if it wasn't found defective and sent someplace warmer to sweat out her sins. In spite of her initial rejection of the notion of Kris reincarnating, she was actually much more comfortable with that, of getting more than one chance to live a good life.

But that didn't mean that she didn't sense there was something beyond that. Her theological sense was underdeveloped, but she had always experienced a strong pull to the ocean. She felt peace there. Still, she was a long way from being one of Kris's Gaia-as-constant-companion-Celebrants— and speaking of Kris as a Celebrant . . . well, being near him was challenging in that respect too. He was like a walking television, tuned in to a twenty-four-hour channel that was All Gaia, All the Time. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. It certainly bothered—even shamed—her that their faith was so unequal. That he believed so utterly, and she barely at all. How could this ever work?